Lark and Wren (60 page)

"Exactly," Rune said. "Exactly. And maybe the why is more important than the what."

Kestrel met her eyes, and nodded.

But a week later they were no nearer to the answer to either question. They camped for the night in the shelter of an arm of a greater forest that stretched the length of Birnam, and set up a camp complete with a very welcome fire. Now that they were out of the marsh, it got cold at night, and the days of frost weren't far off. Rune sat and stared at the flames beside Talaysen, waiting for Kestrel and Robin to settle down too.

"If I were looking for a place to foment rebellion, I'd throw up my hands in despair," Talaysen said, as he leaned back against the tree trunk behind him. "These people are so contented it sounds like a tale. I find it all very hard to believe, except that the evidence is right before my eyes. The King can't have paid
everyone
off to pretend to contentment!"

Sional nodded, reluctantly. Rune held her peace. Both of the men had done their level best to find trouble; they had found nothing at all. No trouble, no discontent, just a placid, contented countryside. This was grazing land, full of sheep and dairy cattle, though it was not the hilly, stony ground of the downs they had left in Rayden. These hills were rich, covered with a lush grass that cattle thrived on; not only cattle, but every other grazing animal. And the people were as fat and contented as their cattle.

"I wish we could find someone to talk to that we knew we could trust," Talaysen said fretfully. "I don't like it. These people are like sheep; they're so happy with King Rolend that it makes no sense.
Everyone
has at least a little grievance against those in power!"

Rune fingered the elven-bracelet on her arm, then stopped and stared at it as an idea slowly formed in her mind. "Maybe we can find someone-at least, someone who's neutral. That is, if you're willing to trust the word of an elf."

Talaysen sat straight up, his laziness vanishing. "An
elf
? Where would we find an elf?"

"We call one," she told him, staring into his eyes from across the fire. "All four of us, together. I think that if we work as a group we're strong enough to manage it."

Talaysen licked his lips nervously; the other two watched her with speculation. "Wh-what did you have in m-mind?" Sional asked.

"There's a song we do, with the name of 'Elf-Call,' and now that I know about this magic we can do with music, I wonder just how close to the truth the title is," she said speculatively. "Especially since that friend of Peregrine's gave us these-"

She held up her wrist. Was it her imagination, or did the silver seem to shine with an especially brilliant gleam?

"So what do you intend us to do?" Talaysen asked, with one eyebrow raised.

"Well, we're in a forest, and there might be a Hill of elves around here," she replied, thinking as she spoke. "If we sang 'Elf-Call,' and thought about how we'd like someone to come talk to us-well, maybe someone would."

"We'd better hedge that in," Talaysen said grimly. "Put conditions around it, before we get ourselves in trouble. We'd better limit our 'wish' to elves nearby, and to elves who don't have anything particular they want to do tonight. I
don't
want to get another King angry with me!"

"Uhm-right." Neither did she, actually, One such experience was enough for a lifetime. "All right, how many conditions do we have?"

"Four, one for each of us," Gwyna supplied. "An elf who actually
knows
the answers to the questions we have, one who is willing to talk to humans, one who is nearby, and who would probably be amused by our ingenuity and audacity." She stood up. "Shall I get the instruments?"

Rune nodded. "Do that. I'll help."

"I'll ready the circle," Talaysen offered. "Kestrel, would you make sure we have enough wood for the fire? And food; we're all going to be hungry after this."

Sional nodded without speaking; while his stammer was much better, and improving daily, he preferred not to speak, if he could avoid it. Rune couldn't help wondering what that would do to his effectiveness as a leader.

Well, maybe they'll think he's just very wise, too wise to waste words. 

She and Gwyna brought out the harp, Talaysen's round-drum, Gwyna's lute and Rune's fiddle. "Elf-Call" required a strong, hypnotic rhythm pattern, quite as complex as any of the instrumental parts. Talaysen was by far and away the best drummer of the four of them.

While Sional piled wood between his place in the circle and Gwyna's, she and Robin set up the instruments and tuned them. Talaysen positioned their cushions so that they would all be comfortable enough to concentrate, and so that each of them was precisely at a compass point. Talaysen had north; Rune east. Robin was in the south and Kestrel beside her in the west. Male faced female across the fire. This, they had worked out, was the best way to perform Bardic magic in a group. Much of what they were doing now was in the nature of experiment; in some things they had completely outstripped everything Peregrine had taught Master Wren, and in others, they had barely scratched the surface of those teachings.

They settled into their places, each taking up his instrument as if it was a weapon-

At least, that was the way Rune felt.

"I'll take the condition of 'friendly,' " she said. "That may be the hardest to find."

"Ah, 'nearby' for me," Gwyna decided. "I'm not as good as the rest of you are at this. That's going to be the easiest to concentrate on."

"'Knowledge.' " Kestrel chose with as few words as possible.

"That leaves me with 'willing,' the compliment to 'friendly,' and probably just as difficult a condition to fill," Talaysen finished. "All right are we ready? In tune? One run-through to get the fingers working and the mind set, then we start concentrating. Remember,
listen
for the under-song, and match it. And on four-"

"Mortals. So ponderous." 

The voice behind Rune was full of humor and amusement, but it startled her heart right out of her body; she jumped a good foot, and dragged her bow across her strings with a most unmusical squawk.

With a full-throated laugh, their visitor stepped between her and Talaysen into the circle of firelight, stole a cushion from the pile behind her back and dropped gracefully down onto it. If all she had seen was his costume, she'd have known him for elven; no human could have stitched those fanciful silken feathers of scarlet and gold, a tunic in the likeness of a phoenix. But the sharply pointed ears gave his race away as well, and the distinctly unhuman cast of his features as he turned to smile at her.

"You really should have learned by now that you've trained your
wills,"
he scolded gently. "For creatures sensitive to magic, you need only be thinking about your needs and channeling the magic with the
thought
of the music. For mortals, perhaps, as earth-bound as you are, you will need a formal ceremony, or the music sung aloud. But not for us. Now, what is it that I can answer for you? In return, of course, you will come to the Hill to play for our dancing tonight."

"Of course," Talaysen said with grave courtesy. Rune couldn't speak; she was still trying to get her heart to take its proper place in her chest. "Thank you for responding to us."

"Oh, how could I not?" the elf laughed. "You are legend, after all! The mortals favored by the High King-you do realize, don't you, that one day you'll have to perform for
him
? And the favor he will ask for his protection might be a weighty one. Or-not. He has his whims, does the High King."

His smile was a bit malicious, but Talaysen simply shrugged. "Nothing comes without a price," he said philosophically. "But what we would ask of you is so little that you may consider it inconsequential."

"And that is?" The elf crossed his legs tailor-fashion, propped one elbow on his knee, and rested his chin on his hand.

"We want to know what the people of this land think of their King-and what they thought of the last one-"

"What, this lad's father?" At Kestrel's start, he laughed again. "Don't trouble your head, child, your secret is safe with us. While King Rolend has the wisdom to welcome us and leave us in peace, we never meddle in mortal politics. So, you wish the tale of King Rolend and his wicked brother, King Charlis, hmm?"

"Wicked brother?" Talaysen raised an eyebrow. "Is that an elven judgment, or the judgment of history as written by the victor?"

The fire popped and crackled, flaring up briefly, and reflecting from their visitor's eyes. "Both, actually." The elf sobered. "I hope the boy there has no great illusions about the quality of his parent-"

Kestrel shook his head. "H-hardly knew him."

"Good. Your father should never have been given power, and that is
our
judgment. He was ill-suited to it, being spoiled and accustomed to having his will in all things. I take it you have been asking discreet questions of the fat herds out there?" The elf nodded towards the road and the dairy farms beyond. "And they have been full of praise for King Rolend? They are right to be. Under his brother, they and their lands groaned beneath taxes so ruinous that their children went to bed hungry one night out of three-and that
here,
in the richest land in the Kingdom. And what did the wicked King Charlis spend their money on?"

He looked at Rune, who shrugged. "Armies?" she hazarded, shifting her position a little.

"They might have forgiven armies. No, he spent it on his own amusement. On exotic pleasure-slaves, on foods from far beyond his borders; on magical toys and rare beasts for his menagerie. On extravagant entertainments for himself and his court-caging the gardens under a great tent and heating it until the trees bloomed in midwinter, flooding the walled court with water and staging a battle of ships." The elf shook his head, and his long hair rippled with the motion. "He neglected his Queen, who did not share his exotic tastes, and his son, who was an inconvenience. That neglect killed his Queen, and cost him the regard of that son. Oh, a few loved him. The Bardic Guild, whom he showered with gifts and gold. The men of the Church, whom he gave license to pursue anything not human as unholy and anathema-which meant ourselves, of course. The select courtiers he favored, and the Dukes and Sires, who he left to themselves, so that they could feud and rule their lands and people as they chose, and make riot of the countryside. But no one else."

"But King R-Rolend?" Kestrel asked. As far as Rune could tell, he wasn't the least upset by the unflattering description of his father.

"Ah, now that is interesting." The elf taped the bridge of his nose with a long, graceful finger. "He is mixed, like most mortals; some bad, but most good. He remitted many of the taxes when he stole the throne, and spent what was left in the treasury restoring the lands. The
honest
Churchmen, whom he raised up after casting a-down the corrupt and proud, favor him and his policy of tolerance to those not human. His people love him, and love his son, who is so like the father that one must look for gray hairs to determine which is which." The elf smiled sardonically, and cast a glance at the bracelets Rune and Talaysen wore. "He has received certain-considerations-from my people. The courtiers no longer receiving rich gifts do not favor him. The corrupt men of the Church curse his name and lineage. The Sires, who must now bend to the laws of the land, grumble among themselves. And the Bardic Guild is-very quiet, lest he recall where so much of the kingdom's coin vanished. From time to time men gather and speak of a 'rightful King,' and talk of rebellion, but nothing comes of it."

"No one is as perfect as you claim King Rolend is," Talaysen said dryly.

"Did I say he was perfect?" The elf shrugged, and his wing-like eyebrows flew up towards his scalp. "He is mortal. No mortal is perfect. He hears the rumors of a 'rightful King,' and he fears, of course. He has had men put to death for simply whispering such words. With every year, he grows less flexible, less forgiving, harder. Power brings him temptations, and he does not always withstand them. But as Kings go, there have been worse, and these people give praise to their Sacrificed God daily for the one they have."

He stood up from his cushion, so smoothly Rune hardly knew he was doing so until he was looking down at them. "Have I given you all that you desire?"

Talaysen looked over at Kestrel, who nodded, slowly.

"Well, then. I have answered your invitation, now you must answer mine."

"Willingly," Talaysen said, getting to his feet. Rune and the others did the same, gathering up their instruments. She cast a nervous glance at the wagon and mules; the elf followed her glance and thoughts with the lightning-quick understanding of his kind.

"Never fear for your goods and beasts," he said-he didn't
quite
mock. "They will be guarded. The fire will be tended. Now, to the Hill, and the feast, and the dancing!"

Certainly. And allow me to get my little dig in at you and yours, my friend.
"Gladly," she said sweetly, as they followed him into the forest. "And we promise to
stop
when you are weary."

His teeth gleaming back at her in a vulpine smile were all the answer he gave.

The King's private study seemed full of lurking shadows tonight, not all of them born of firelight. Some of them were born of unpleasant memory.

Why did I ever take the throne? 

Rolend's temple throbbed, and nothing the Healer-Priests did for him would make the pain stop. One of them had the audacity to tell him that he was doing it to himself. He slumped over his desk and buried his head in his hands.

He was doing it to himself. Whatever the hell that was supposed to mean.

The question of why he had taken the crown was rhetorical, of course; he'd usurped the throne to keep his brother from looting the country to the point where the people would rise up and slaughter anyone with a drop of noble blood in his veins. And
that
had been nearer than anyone but he and a few choice advisors even guessed.

Shadows danced on the wall, shadows that mimed the conflict of men and their dreams. He had hoped to capture Prince Sional; the boy had been young, young enough, he had hoped, to be trained. Young enough even to come to understand what his uncle had done, and why, and forgive him one day?